


Kinks are meant to be found and explored

by aleighachan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Kinks, Kinks galore, M/M, sammy wants to get it on outside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleighachan/pseuds/aleighachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they start fucking they wonder why they didn't start earlier.<br/>When they start exploring kinks they wonder why they didn't start earlier.<br/>When dean finally figures out what makes Sammy tick he wonders why he didn't find out earlier. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pshh or that time they had danger wanks w/e :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinks are meant to be found and explored

When they start fucking, it's - seriously, seriously awesome. A whole load of tension finally snapping, years of knowing each other inside out, and a mutual sense that they're already breaking so many taboos just by fucking that there's no need to be prudish about anything, they may as well go all in, and they do - it totals up to one hell of a fantastic sex life. They barely leave the bed the first week, and Dean almost feels proud of how gross and crusty the bed ends up. Sam pulls a face and leaves an outrageous tip for the maid when they finally drag themselves out of the motel, moving on to the next hunt.

For all Dean's teased Sam throughout his life for being prissy, uptight, geeky, so on - the guy lets loose in bed. Dean's almost jealous; he thought he was a damn good lay, but Sam gets all growly and intense and wanton; and he's up for anything. He'll put his tongue - and fingers, and dick - anywhere Dean wants him to; he'll fuck Dean up, down, sideways; he'll let Dean fuck him up, down and sideways when the mood strikes. Dean feels almost as though he's running out of things to suggest. It's like an all-you-can-eat buffet of kinks Dean's always wanted to try, with the added bonus of Sam, who, firstly, he loves, which is never something he'd say aloud but it does kind of make everything nicer; and secondly, is almost unfairly hot. Sometimes Dean's happy to spend hours just enjoying the feel of Sam's body under his hands and especially mouth - the smooth skin stretched taut over his hipbones, the ridge of muscle leading down to his big dick, the contours of those abs, the rise of his mouth wateringly pert ass. Sam tends to devolve into incoherent ranting about Dean's lips whenever Dean uses his mouth anywhere on Sam, so that works out pretty well for the both of them.

Still, for all the fun they have, Dean comes to realize it's always him putting forward the ideas, no matter how enthusiastically Sam carries them out. "Dude," he says one afternoon, heart rate still slowing after a fantastic orgasm, come still splattered over his belly. Sam's sprawled next to him on the bed, long fingers trailing through the mess and licking it off his fingertips.

"Mmm?" he says lazily around a finger. Dean tries not to get distracted.

"Is there anything you want?"

Sam lets his eyes travel up and down the length of Dean's body, from his wrists bound to the headboard, past his now-mostly-soft plump cock resting against the crease of his thigh, down to his splayed legs. "Think I have everything I need here, man," he says, and grins.

"Well, obviously," says Dean, "but, I mean, you never suggest anything."

"Your imagination is fertile enough for the both of us."

"Oh, I know, I'm awesome," says Dean with a grin. "But there's got to be some nasty thing we haven't tried yet that you want. You can't tell me you don't have some weirdo kinks locked up in that big brain of yours."

Sam shrugs, an easy, fluid movement, but doesn't meet Dean's eyes, and turns his attention to licking spunk out of Dean's bellybutton. "It's sex," he says, "It's all fun." The words are a pleasant vibration against Dean's skin, making him think he might be up for round two already, and he tests the give of the bindings and grins, “round two of this session, of course.” It is late afternoon, the setting sun reminding Dean how long they had been at this particular bout of tied up play.  
Dean kind of forgets about the whole thing for a while - there's too much sex to be had to be worrying about what kinks Sam might be into - but he does wonder sometimes. Are they weird or obscure or embarrassing enough that Sam doesn't want to bring it up? Dean doesn't think so - it took him like three whole days of worrying before he brought up the whole panties thing with Sam, and Sam didn't even make fun of him - well, mostly - just opened up the Victoria's Secret website with a gleam in his eye. So it's unlikely Sam would have something that he'd be worried about Dean judging him for.

Still, everyone has a kink, right? Some people have bunches, some just one or two, but everyone's got something that makes their breath come a bit faster, their stomach tighten up, their face go hot.

Dean starts to get a hint a few weeks later. They're in the corner booth of a diner, and it's the dead time between lunchtime and the evening rush; a few regulars sit along the counter like their asses are glued to the cracked vinyl seats, but otherwise the waitresses seem to be under the impression the diner's empty, one chatting with the cook, one engrossed in her cell phone. Dean's been trying to catch someone's eye for a refill on his coffee for what feels like half an hour to no avail.

"Christ," he grumbles, "Are we fucking invisible here? Am I gonna have to get down and start sucking you off before anyone pays any attention?"

Sam doesn't say anything, but there's a noticeable silence and stillness suddenly from his side of the table, and Dean stops craning his neck towards the BlackBerry-addicted waitress and looks at Sam instead. Sam's looking directly at him with a heat in his eyes that usually means only one thing, but it's not quite that familiar in a diner with weak daylight spilling over cracked Formica. Dean frowns. "What did I say?"

Sam bites his lip. "That you'd--"

Dean grins, then, delighted. He leans forward across the table a little, watches Sam's eyes drop to his mouth as he talks. "You like that idea? Me just getting down on my knees on this floor, down there with old ketchup stains and stale fries, yank your fly open in broad daylight, for just anyone to walk in and see what a big boy you are, get my mouth on you and suck, get you right down into my throat so I'm drooling everywhere and you'll get all noisy like you do, so everyone knows how much you love it, with those old guys at the counter getting an eyeful, give Mindy something other than her cell to take up all her attention?"

He says it all low, but loud enough that if there would've been anyone at the booth next to theirs, they would have heard it, and Sam knows it; he gets redder as Dean goes on, eyes flying frantically around the diner, then he screws them shut, mouth softly open, and his legs spread and slouched, like he's making room for a monster erection.

"Shut up," says Sam, when Dean finishes, but he doesn't sound convinced, and when his eyes flick open again, they're hooded and dark, intent on Dean.

Dean just smiles slow. "I knew there was something. That's what you want? For people to see - see me get you off, right here."

"You can't, you wouldn't," says Sam, but there's a breathless, eager tone to his voice.

Dean slides forward, jams his chest against the table and reaches his hand underneath and grabs onto Sam's knee.

Sam's eyes fly open. "Dean--"

"Shh, unless you want everyone to look over."

Sam shuts up, colour hectic in his cheeks, and when Dean grips Sam's knee and tugs, Sam goes; slides far down in the seat, shoulders against the plastic seat back, hips shoving out until his ass hangs over the edge, feet firm on the floor, thighs spread. If someone stepped into the diner and looked around, it wouldn't be as obvious as if Dean really was down on his knees sucking down Sam's dick, but there's no hanging tablecloth to disguise the movement of Dean's hand. He slides it up Sam's thigh, knows without looking under the table that Sam dresses left, and meets his cock as expected, a hot fat bulge in his jeans, trapped along his thigh.

Sam jolts, makes a "Gnnh--" noise, and shoves one hand at his mouth, the other gripped white knuckled at the edge of the table.

Dean covers Sam's dick with his hand, squeezes down, feels it jerk violently under his palm; he feels along to the ridge of Sam's cockhead and rubs hard. Sam's breathing in harshly through his nose, teeth set white against his knuckles.

"Keep quiet, Sammy," says Dean, low. Sam whines at that, and his hips judder under Dean's pressing hand, not enough leverage to thrust up.

Dean can feel the denim moving a little more smoothly over Sam's cockhead as Sam leaks, and Dean massages down firmly with his fingers, then drags the heel of his hand down the shaft to grind it at the tense warm weight of Sam's balls pressed against the seam of his jeans. Then back, feeling it twitch hard as he goes, to press down hard again right over Sam's cockhead, melding his fingers to it through Sam's jeans, dampness now seeping all the way through.

Sam jolts all over, again, hard, then Dean can hear him muffle, "Oh fuck, oh god," through his teeth clenched in his hand, and he whines again and comes. Dean can feel it as he blows his load right there in his jeans under Dean's fingers, his come pulsing out, his face red and screwed up like he's in pain. Must've been five minutes, tops, since Dean put his hand on Sam's knee, Dean couldn’t believe how hard he was from just watching his little brothers face. 

Dean massages Sam through the aftershocks, then pulls away as Sam flinches and groans. Dean sits up just as the prim heels of the waitress click over to them. Her eyes flick, inscrutable, from Dean, to Sam, who's still sprawled almost horizontal, hand dented with his own teeth marks, face red and dazed. Dean has no idea if she saw or figured it out or not, but he smiles brightly at her anyway.

"Refill?" she asks.

"Nah," says Dean, "we're done."

"Mm-hmm."

Sam seems to come back to the land of the living at that, and jerks upright, shoots Dean a glare, and the waitress has an innocent look that on her face, never quite reaching eye contact with either of them. He awkwardly curves himself away from the rest of the dinner, hand up on the table to rake his hair back and pull out his wallet. "Uh. Yeah. We're done. Thanks."

He pulls a bitch face at Dean for embarrassing them as he does the I-jizzed-in-my-pants walk of shame all the way back to the car, but he never once actually implies that he didn't want it to happen, or that Dean shouldn't do it again. And anything that makes Sam come that fast - Sam who's fucked Dean for an honest-to-god three hours straight in one memorable marathon night, kid's got stamina - is something Dean is very excited to know about.

Sam glares at him all the way back to the motel and then fucks him hard in what he probably thinks is punishment - but is totally reward - but when he's pliant and cuddly afterwards, he lets Dean talk to him about it.

"I asked you like a million times if you had any kinks, dude, why didn't you say, Dean, I want you to get me off in public, it makes me cream my jeans like a thirteen year old."

Sam shrugs, a squirmy movement, and shifts on the pillow, pressing his face to Dean's shoulder. "It's not really a kink. It's just a -- thing."

It's totally a kink, but Dean doesn't push him on it. "You still should've said. Dude, that was fun."

"I didn't tell you about it because then you'd have done it, like today. You can't just do that, Dean, its wrong. It's illegal and people might see," Sam's breath is already coming a little faster, "and it's just wrong."

"Dude, we're brothers. What we're doing behind closed doors is hundred times more wrong and illegal than a bit of public sex."

"But - no-one knows," says Sam, a whine in his voice that's half petulant and half turned-on. "People knowing, and seeing--"

Logically, if Sam was going to get a thrill out of taboo breaking, it would make more sense for it to be the whole incest thing, but if Sam's got a twisted up thing about exhibitionism, Dean's not going to be and ass about it. Plus he’s pretty sure Sam loves that edge of it the thrill of the whole thing. The fact that he has convinced himself it's wrong proves his point. And anyway, Dean's happy to be frank and blunt about it enough for the both of them, especially if it's going to tie Sam up into mortified turned-on little knots.

\--

Dean keeps it in his head, but he doesn't do or say anything about it for a good long while. He's getting an action plan together in his head, and he's sure Sam's on edge for a while. He can imagine Sam's thought processes: Dean knows. Dean loves to fuck with me, Dean loves to fuck me, Dean's unpredictable. Sam probably walks around expecting Dean to jump him in public for a good couple of weeks, but Dean doesn't, and eventually Sam seems to relax, which of course is the perfect time to get things in motion.

He picks the town wisely - small enough that it won't affect them if they have to avoid it again for the rest of their lives, but big enough to be liberal enough they won't get shot at or anything. He chooses a coastal college town in mid-September, a town with a boardwalk, and a mixture of tourists and college kids that wander along it, but not many families and kids. He invents some bullshit excuse like weird deaths that end up being nothing supernatural to get them there, and convinces Sam to hang out there for a few days.

The weather's good, a nice lingering warmth in the air which means they can be out along the boardwalk one evening, the sky blazing orange. They're loose-limbed from a couple of beers each. The boardwalk widens to a little viewing platform, with a few benches scattered around; a guy reading on one, a couple holding hands on another. The air is fresh and slightly salty, and Dean feels giddy a feeling he thought he would never feel again. He sits down on a bench with a contented sigh, and Sam follows him, looking relaxed - and really fucking hot, not that that's particularly unusual.

Dean spreads his legs a little, casual, so one thigh bumps against Sam's. Sam doesn't move away, and Dean lets the warmth of Sam's skin bleed through his jeans, feels like it's spreading through his body; his blood picks up with anticipation and his dick wakes up in his jeans, thickening a little.

"Hey," he says, looking at Sam.

Sam turns his head. "Hm?"

Dean bites his lips, raises his eyebrows a little, and then grins wide, brings a hand up to tangle in Sam's hair before tugging him in quickly for a kiss.

Sam makes a surprised little noise and at first his mouth is tense under Dean's; then he relaxes, kisses Dean back, like they're any other couple making out on a warm later summer evening. Dean keeps it chaste for a moment, tongue in his own mouth, lips only opening enough to tease a hint of wetness. Then he closes his teeth on Sam's lower lip, nibbles it for a moment, feels Sam suck in a breath; then Sam pulls away.

"Hey," he starts to say, like he's going to finish it with, let's not get carried away, then he looks at Dean, really looks. Dean stares steadily back at him, hand still in Sam's hair, face still close, and smirks. He sees Sam start to get it - apprehension and a wash of arousal flicker over his face, and before Sam can let one of those get too much of a foothold, Dean decides to push the arousal button, get Sam thinking with the other head.

He moves quickly, getting up and swinging a leg around until he lands firmly on Sam's lap, thighs spread snug around Sam's hips. It's an unmistakeable movement that takes this from mostly publicly appropriate to totally noticeably not, and he can almost feel the weight of multiple sets of eyes all swinging around to land on them. It feels good, shivers running down his spine, but what gets him seriously going is the effect it has on Sam. His mouth drops open helplessly, his face twists like he's been sucked-punched, and Dean can feel his belly tense and hips shudder with the push of arousal.

"Dean," he moans, "we can't--"

"Oh, we so can," says Dean, the small part of him that wants to be shamed at smashing through the public/private boundaries being quickly quieted by how awesome it is to watch Sam led by the dick through his own kink. Dean gets the double-whammy of appreciating how hot Sam can be, writhing under him, plus the sympathetic arousal of recognizing how it feels to be so completely turned inside out by how much something pushes your buttons. His dick becomes in some urgent need of attention and friction in his jeans. He uses his slight leverage to rocks his hips in close to Sam, rolling his dick against Sam's thigh.

He groans, and Sam shushes him like that will help at all; nothing will stop people seeing what they're doing. Sam's eyes flick frantically from side to side, skittering away like he keeps almost meeting people's gazes, then he fixes his eyes only on Dean, cheeks red and mouth open and biteable.

"Ready to give them a real show cowboy?" Dean says, and Sam closes his eyes, brows drawn together, then surges up to meet Dean in a violent kiss, just fucking going for it. His hands, which had been fluttering around Dean's hips, grab double handfuls of Dean's ass and drag him right in, and Dean rocks forward until their dicks are snugged up against each other, both grinding together, rolling their hips in blatant fucking motions. Dean feels people's attention like a finger pressing down on the back of his neck, and he can hear them, too - the smash of a glass dropped, footsteps around them, moving away, maybe moving closer, he doesn't know. Someone gasping.

He sucks on Sam's tongue, rubbing his own tongue on the underside, and Sam's hands clutch at his ass, fingers digging in between his cheeks. He groans again, the sound getting lost in the wet frantic movement of their mouths. He gets both his hands in between them and starts to fumble with Sam's belt buckle; Sam wrenches his mouth away from Dean's with a gasp and stares at him. "Dean, you--"

"Yes, I fucking can," says Dean, high on desire and the giddy power that comes from not just breaking a taboo but smashing it to careless smithereens. He gets Sam's belt open, unbuttons his jeans and shoves his hand inside; doesn't get Sam's cock out fully, just shoves his hand inside the slit in Sam's boxers to get his palm wrapped around the jumping heat of Sam's dick. It's evening, and with the sides of Sam's fly and the fabric of his boxers, there's enough to mostly obscure him, but it's, shit, it's nothing you could call modest. Sam stares down at where Dean's hand works, transfixed, and the light from the lamps that line the boardwalk catches little gleaming snatches of his red dick, and the head is jutting up above the waistband of his boxers, half obscured by the hem of his t-shirt.

Dean's cock shudders and twitches inside his own jeans, and he shifts around on Sam's lap so he's still got leverage to jerk Sam off but he can also wedge Sam's thigh between his own and rub off that way.

There's noise around them, the chattering sounds of people's voices, but Dean hasn't paid attention to it yet; but he hears people, now.

"Oh my, god, are they--"

"Did you see--?"

"Are they both--"

"They can't be allowed--"

He rocks forward harder, stealing biting kisses from Sam's mouth. Sam's rock hard and straining in his hand; he's gonna blow, soon.

"Come on, come on, Sammy," groans Dean encouragingly. "Can you hear them? Everyone looking at us. God, get the right angle and you know they can see your dick, you cockhead's sticking up, light shining right fuckin' down on it, everyone can see how fuckin' fat it is, gonna see you come, gonna see you gimme your load right here--"

Sam moans, tongue caught between his teeth as he rockets towards orgasm; then, unmistakeable as anything, there's the close ker-chunk! sound of a cameraphone going off.

Sam's eyes fly open, shocked, wide, and black with arousal; and he comes in sudden thick wet pulses, smearing over his belly, shirt, boxers, jeans, Dean's hand.

He jerks all over as he comes, thigh shoving up firmly into Dean's dick, and the sight, sound and feel of Sam coming shoves Dean over and he grinds his orgasm out on Sam's firm thigh. His turn to blow in his jeans, the future discomfort more than made up for by how filthy-good it feels.

He drifts for a few moments in dark, warm, wet post-orgasm space, before he lifts his head to grin at Sam. "So--" he starts to say, and Sam struggles to focus on him, then they hear the far-off whine of police sirens.

"Oh shit," says Dean; he's not completely sure that it's for them, but it's coming closer, and of all the things Dean wants to talk his way out of, this isn't one. They stare at each other for a second, and then they're off, running down the boardwalk, legs aching, Sam sending him death glares while he tries to do up his jeans while running, hysterical laughter caught in Dean's chest and not helping him try and catch his breath.

Dean ends up twisting his ankle and Sam accidentally leaves behind one of his favourite knives in the motel when they pack in a hurry and peel out of there, but - and even Sam agrees, after some blowjobs and cajoling - it was totally worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Haii Broski's thanks for reading! I wanted to explore Sams who thing about being "proper" on the outdoors and trying not to draw attention to them selves being wrapped up in a kinky bubble. *sounds like my type of bubble heh* 
> 
> Kudos's and comments are always and forever welcome!! :D *Hands you a cookie*


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